


Super Senior

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Meet-Cute, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten





	Super Senior

Castiel’s brother is the worst sibling to ever live- though he may be biased, because about twelve minutes ago, Gabriel disappeared into the crowd, and Cas just now got a text that he’s not even at this party anymore. Great.

He’s shoved himself into the corner of a bathroom, scrubbing God-knows-what was in that red Solo cup someone spilled on him out of his pants. He wasn’t the only one in here- but the couple wasn’t doing anything not going on in the common room, and all he needed is the sink, so he ignored them. Well, as much as one can ignore necking of that caliber.

He was really just taking his frustrations out on the fabric when he spied a camera flash in the bathroom mirror. A cell phone attached disappeared around the doorjamb, and with nothing better to do, Castiel investigated.

There was a man leaned against the wall outside, admiring the candid on his screen. Weird voyeur, he supposed, but the man caught him looking. “That’s not her boyfriend.” he said with a smug smile.

Cas cocked his head, narrowed his eyes curiously. “Are you gathering blackmail?”

He shrugged. “What else is there to do?”

Castiel had never agreed with a man more. “I want to help.”

He grinned, wide, and that was the beginning of a wonderful evening.

His name was Crowley, and he had a Bachelor’s in Business Administration, pursuing a Master’s because he had bigger plans. They snapped pictures of halves of couples cheating, underage drinking, a whole lot of drug use, and drew penises on a passed-out super senior Crowley shared a class with. It felt like the teenage years Cas never had, since his were consumed with college prep (and now college was consumed with detemining his career, and so on and so forth until death).

“Bugger the whole thing.” Crowley had said. “You’re an artist, let the muse take you. Isn’t that what artsy people do?”

They walked back to Crowley’s dorm, since Castiel had nowhere better to go until Gabriel turned his phone back on. They spent forever talking philosophy in the hallway, since it was late, and neither of them wanted to go. Cas restrained himself from saying, “ _I enjoyed myself thoroughly_ ” because it sounded too romcom.

“Kiss ‘im already!” a passing student shouted, and while Cas laughed at his probable drunkenness, Crowley took the advice.

There are a lot of things fuzzy about that night, from why he went with Gabe in the first place, to how they got the door open with both their hands and mouths full, to where Castiel’s belt ended up- because he walked out at about one-thirty in the morning, with half-typo directions to the Ihop Gabe had ended up at, without it.

For the only time in their lives, Castiel had a more eventful night than his brother.

It was the only one-night-stand of his college career (that wasn’t exactly on his university bucket list, unlike internships and getting really good at biking), spontaneous and searing, and he never regretted a second of it- Gabe says because he didn’t catch anything from it. Sometimes, passing out on his desk and spamming an essay with whatever key his nose hit, Cas thought of him, and wondered what would have happened if he’d told Gabriel to go to hell. He has a thousand speculations constructed a thousand different times, but in the end, none of it matters now.

He’s got a job interview in ten, and this elevator seems determined to stop at every floor between ground and the one he needs. A secretary back from lunch steps off, and a businessman gets on, eyes glued to his phone. Rude.

Castiel's polite, though. “What floor?”

“Seventy-second, thanks love.”

He hits the button, even as he complains in his losing-opportunity irritability, “Do you address everyone like that?”

“As a matter of fact,” he says, looking up- and he looks as good as Cas remembers- “I do.” It takes Crowley a moment to recognize him, but when he does, he smiles the same as he did in college. “Especially you.”

“So, you really made it.” Castiel comments. They’ve got fifty floors to go. “I never doubted you would.”

“Not quite there yet,” he bemoans, slipping the phone in his pocket, “still only Junior Vice President.”

Cas blinks owlishly at the floor counter; he’s still trying to snag a job in Human Resources. He turns his head slowly to Crowley, but can only awe, “ _How?_ ”

It’s a question he gets a lot, and loves answering. “That blackmail came in handy.”

He chuckles, though he would have really liked to have been a part of Crowley’s rise to success. He’d like to be a part of his life.

But the doors are sliding apart, and he’s late to an interview he’d really, really like. He glances over at Crowley- and he’s taller than him, now, but he finds it really doesn’t matter. “I must be going.”

“Ditto.”

Castiel steps the threshold, and wishes the elevator had stopped. That would be a good excuse for his tardiness, and the Junior Vice President would back him up. It’s too late.

He looks over his shoulder- should be sprinting to his interview- and confesses, “It was nice seeing you again.”

They were a one-night stand; he’s not obligated to respond, but Castiel hoped he would. It’s a second too long when he winks, and Cas considers that a win. He smiles as he strides down the hall, brisk to avoid the sound of the elevator ding.

“You doing anything for lunch?” Crowley calls from up the hall.

He’s late.

If the interviewer’s waited this long, they can wait a little longer. He’s been waiting for this for years.

Castiel smiles, and says, “Now I am.”


End file.
